


The Coyotes

by InSearchOfSpace



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Detective Work, Gen, New Vegas Side-Quest, WASTELAND JUSTICE, westside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InSearchOfSpace/pseuds/InSearchOfSpace
Summary: A House-allegiant Courier Six, after recovering the platinum chip from Fortification Hill, finds herself trying to keep occupied whilst waiting for Mr. House to finish remotely upgrading the Securitron army to the Mark II Operating System. Her aimless drifting leads her to Aerotech Office Park, where she lends a sympathetic ear to the plight of a doting Captain Parker. || Adaptation of the Fallout: New Vegas side-quest "The Coyotes".





	The Coyotes

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea to make a fic adaptation of a New Vegas quest. Might do more, but probably not. Dialog is partially taken from in-game. Also, the Courier is a Ghoul, but it doesn't really have much of a hand in the story - just for the fun of it.

"...Some people have gone missing from the camp lately. Haven't seen any signs of violence or heard about any feuds, they just up and vanished." Parker said, his arms folded as his eyes gently glanced around the camp. He had the eyes of a tired, overworked individual. The stress was apparent in the way he carried himself in just about everything he did. This was a sad state that most of the NCR higher-ups stationed in the Mojave were resigned to. The Courier just stood and listened, removing the wide-brimmed hat from her head to fan herself with as he spoke, exposing her patchy head of dark hair, if it could even be called that. A side-effect of ghoulification that she'd come to terms with long ago. The hat gave her face some shade, but also allowed for her pale, cloudy eyes to be seen - as opposed to hiding them with a mask, or one of those big ranger helmets.

"I've also got Keith and his gambling to deal with. I know that skunk's cheating folk out of their savings, I just can't prove it." He added, a hand subtly clenching up into a fist. A perceptive individual would be able to note that Parker likely wasn't very fond of 'Keith'. The Courier sighed, putting the hat back on her head before tucking her hands back into the pockets of her duster. A 9mm bullet turned into a necklace hung low around her neck - the same bullet she'd been shot in the head with about a week or two prior, and a patch had been sewn onto her sleeve at shoulder height, bearing the sigil of the Lucky 38 casino. Apparently, she felt it necessary for people to know where she stood with Vegas. Parker had piqued her interest with the mention of missing people though. She wasn't doing anything too important, and she had time to kill. Not to mention that missing persons seemed like a far more pressing matter than a card cheat.

"Well... What can you tell me about the missing people?" The Courier asked with a raspy voice, looking around as she spoke. The camp looked like it was eerily empty, but everyone was likely inside, as she and Parker were the only people in sight, standing in the middle of the spacious courtyard.  
"They never seemed to have much in common - that's why I didn't notice it sooner. Young folks, old folks, men, women, all disappearing... I remember this one family, with a little blonde girl. She... Never talked much, but she always carried this little stuffed teddy bear." Parker said, seeming visibly uncomfortable with the memory. He had a hard job, and incidents like this don't help. House would probably call this semantics, and cite the harshness of the Wasteland as an excuse to not get involved, but despite her somewhat odd devotion to her employer, she felt an obligation to help out. This wasn't going to get solved otherwise, and she wouldn't really consider this aiding the NCR, with whom she had a somewhat lukewarm relationship. She was helping the refugees, not the war effort. Therefore, this job was fair game.

"That's sick," She said, taking the hunting revolver from the holster on her hip, checking how many bullets there were in the chamber. "Remember anything else? Any leads?" She asked, raising her brow in curiosity. Her skin, or lack thereof, had a very subtle red tinge to it, reminiscent of some of the ghouls found in the Capital Wasteland as opposed to the Mojave, though she was native to neither location. The Hub was her home, though that felt like a lifetime ago. In all fairness, it probably was.  
"Seem to recall a lot of them did business with those scavengers on the West Side - Dermot and Saint Jaimes." Parker said with a hand on his hip, looking at the Courier about several inches shorter than him.  
"Then I guess I'm headed to Westside. I'll look into it, but I can't promise you anything. But you take care of yourself. Captain." The Courier said, turning around to leave.  
"Much obliged. Don't be a stranger." The Captain replied, before wandering off elsewhere in the camp. She noted he didn't seem too bothered by the fact that she was a Ghoul. As nice as the idea of the Mojave gradually becoming more tolerant to Ghouls sounded, she was aware this was likely because Parker was just too exhausted to care at this point. By this point, she didn't care either. 

She left the park, sitting on the kerb just outside the gate. She took a moment to compose herself - Tightening her knee pads, re-doing a lace on her shin-height boots that had come undone, that sort of thing. Lastly, she made note of the situation on her Pip-boy, before checking the map and hitting the road. It wasn't too much distance, but Fiends on the route might cost her some daylight. She'd like to get this done, and she was going to, but she'd like it done as soon as possible as to not keep Robert waiting the following day. He was... Impatient.

It took little over half an hour and three shotgun shells to arrive in Westside, looking around. The militia seemed to be walking up and down the streets on patrol, but it was such a rag-tag group of misfits that they likely weren't defending Westside from much at all. Fiends seemed to get in every now and then, regardless of the militia's presence. As a matter of fact, it was widely known that most of Westside's muscle came from the Super Mutant, Mean Sonofabitch, with whom she'd exchanged a few pleasant words with, like asking how The Hub was in her absence (which in turn lead to the awkward revelation that Mean Sonofabitch wasn't from The Hub so much as he was dragged there by NCR troops). None of these people seemed to realize it, and when the plan came to fruition, they likely still wouldn't realize it for a long time, but she could see how the place would benefit from House's grand plan. The ends justify the means, after all.

She sauntered to the other end of town with her Revolver in hand, returning the dirty looks she was receiving from some of Westside's residents. She was used to it by now. That didn't make it right - but she was used to it. She stopped outside the Casa Madrid, tilting her hat so she could look up at the Super Mutant towering over her.  
"Hi again." it said rather simply, looking down at her.  
"Mean," She said, acknowledging his presence. "I'm looking for two scavengers called Dermot and Saint James. Any idea where I might find them?" She asked, holstering her gun once more. The mutant grunted, and heavy-handedly pointed to his right, at two individuals leaning against a wall across the street. "Why? Got business with them?" a capped individual sitting on a chair outside the apartments chimed in, glaring up at her. Marco, the owner of the Casa Madrid. Neither had spoken before, but she figured he was about as pleasant as a landlord/pimp could be. "I might. Something to add?" She replied, returning his glare as Mean Sonofabitch strolled away, more concerned with protecting Westside than eavesdropping. "Lady, I don't know shit but selling rooms and selling poon. Gossip ain't my forte." He said, crossing his arms as he leaned back in the chair.  
"Classy." She replied, turning to make her way over to Dermot and Saint James, which invoked a dismissive wave of his hand in her direction.

"Starin' problem, shuffler?" the man in the jumpsuit and police hat called out at her, both his and his associate's eyes fixed on the Courier.  
"Why are you talkin' to us here, man? We're trying to relax, got it?" the other man added, waving her away with a power fist.  
"Some people have gone missing. The last place they were seen was around you two." She said, putting a single hand on her hip as she looked between them. They both had an uncomfortable air around them - she didn't like it. Saint James piped up, and in doing so, he seemed to piss off Dermot.  
"I don't know a thing about no missing refugees from that fucking camp. Go cry to somebody else." Saint James said, avoiding her eyes.  
"I didn't mention refugees. I didn't even mention a camp." She rasped, gritting her teeth. What a fucking asshole - at least now she knew there was something up, and that it involved these two clowns.  
"James - Shut the fuck up." Dermot said, standing up straight, no longer leaning on the wall. "What James meant to say was we've both been hearing rumors about Aerotech. Don't concern us, and we've had it with people coming to us abou--"  
"James knows what he meant." the Courier interrupted, folding her arms.  
"Would you just fuck off? You got nothing on us anyhow!" James said, waving her away.  
The Courier sighed, looking down at the ground, and then back up at the two men in front of her. "You're right. I don't. Have a nice day now." She said rather passive aggressively, turning around to walk away once more. Yeah, she had nothing on them. So that was what she needed. She pondered for a moment on how she might access the Westside rumour mill, but so far she had nothing to go on. Marco mentioned keeping out of gossip, so either he didn't know or wouldn't talk. The prostitutes might know something, and out of the three she had to choose from, she figured Sweetie would be most likely to have heard something, being the most popular choice. 

The Courier looked up at the Casa Madrid, and shook her head before making her way in. The entire place was a dive. It reeked of illness and sex, and the thought of residents having to choose between sleeping here or on the street was mortifying to her. She climbed the stairs, the surprisingly soft, yet filthy carpet under her feet making her footsteps produce little to no sound. Her gloved hands knocked three times on Sweetie's door, and almost instantly it unlocked from the other side, and the chain was taken off the latch, letting her open the door to look at the Ghoul stood outside.  
"I want to talk to you about Dermot and Saint James." She said, making her intention clear before Sweetie had a chance to proposition her, crossing her arms.  
"Well, Saint James, sure. But a client's got a right to privacy. 200 caps." She said, the statement seeming to amuse the Courier. She sighed, reaching into her duster before procuring a sizeable pouch of bottlecaps. "Keep the change and tell me everything you know about him." She said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind herself, leaning on it. 

"Well... He's not the worst I've ever been with. But more a pervert than most." She said, counting the caps on her bedside table. The Courier just rolled her eyes, about to speak up about how she wasn't interested in his sex life, but Sweetie said something that seemed to ring a bell. "Lately he's been bringing this teddy bear with him. Props it up on the bed like it's watching us. Creepy as Hell." She said, shuddering somewhat as she spoke. That's either a lead, or a pretty fucking big coincidence.  
"A teddy bear?" The Courier repeated, tilting her head to the side.  
"Never wants me to say a word either. Or move around." She added, looking up at her.  
Her stomach turned somewhat, and she wanted to get to the bottom of this now more than ever. "Any chance you could help me get into his room? It's important." She said, a hand resting on her revolver.  
"I do have his spare key... But I'm not so sure he'd like it if I let you in there. Saint James can get crazy sometimes." Sweetie said rather meekly, sitting down on her bed.  
The Courier just groaned, growing impatient. "I'll pay you for the key. I just really need to get in there." She said, feeling around for more caps. She put two handfuls down on the bedside table with the rest of her caps, to which Sweetie almost instantly procured the key. "Pleasure doing business with you. Come back and see me some time now." She smirked, scooping the caps into one big pile.

The Courier just looked down at her before silently walking out. That was an offer she likely wasn't going to take up any time soon.

She nonchalantly made her way down the stairs, and looked for the door that corresponded to the number on the keyring. She found it eventually, taking a careful glance around to make sure nobody saw her turn the key in Saint James' lock, letting herself in. She closed the door behind herself. She practically tore the room apart, rather inelegantly. Looking underneath mattresses for holotapes, or anything incriminating. Pulling out dressers and searching under surfaces. It didn't take long for her to find a teddy bear, but not much else. She cursed under her breath, shoving the bear into her small backpack before leaving his room. The teddy bear was incriminating, but not enough. Regardless, Parker might be able to confirm whether or not it belonged to the missing girl, so she hung onto it. Her investigation was slowly coming together. All she needed was a little more evidence, and Dermot's room was still unsearched. Only she didn't know where it was. She walked down the Casa Madrid's hall for a couple minutes before a local left their room, not in very good shape (just like the rest of the town). They were likely under the influence of Jet, or some other chem - or at least addicted to it. The Courier looked down at him tapping her foot on the floor. "Where's Dermot's room?" She said as bluntly and intimidatingly as her raspy voice could go, trying to get something out of the junkie. "Dermot..? He's like... There..." He said, squinting so much that his eyes were almost closed, pointing at the door at the end of the hall, behind the Courier. She stormed over and left the junkie to his own devices, taking out her revolver as she tried the doorknob, but it was locked. "For fuck's--" She groaned before booting the door once, twice, three times before the flimsy lock broke open. 

A blank blue book sat on a table. Cautiously, the Courier picked it up, setting the revolver down in its place as she flipped through the pages.

"TO MOTOR RUNNER:  
Teen girl - 500 caps  
Adult man, 38 - 0 caps

True to his word paid top money for the girl. Plus bonus for first delivery. But paid nothing for girls father who took a swing at him when untied. Got to keep em more secured. Also keep SJ off the girls as even fiends dont want used goods."

She couldn't believe what she was reading. Actually, she could. She just didn't want to believe it. She scanned over the ledger, every entry telling a similar story. She felt sick to her stomach, until she found what she was looking for. A specific sale.

"TO NEPHI:  
Teen girl - 400 caps  
Teen boy - 150 caps  
Child girl (7?) - 50 caps

More like it. Learned from past and got rid of mom and dad along the way. Tried to get more for the young one I said hey give her time to sprout. But Nephi wouldn't have it. Kept SJ off the girls so long as he got his damn teddy. Hes a sick one but I guess the work calls for it."

Sick fuckers. All that rage that had been slowly building up into her over the course of the investigation came to a head. Slavers. Fucking slavers. She held the ledger in her left hand and her revolver in the right, rushing out of the apartment building in a hurry. She spotted the two of them, and made her way over - anger clouding her judgement. She probably should have reported to Parker so that an arrest could have been made, but this seemed to call for Wasteland justice, not due process. Besides, it wasn't like she had any obligation to let the NCR handle it anyhow.

She stood in front of Dermot and Saint James again, for the last time. Waiting for them to acknowledge her presence. "We gotta go through this again?" Saint James said, rolling his eyes. "Fine. What's it about this time?" He asked, Dermot not even paying the conversation attention. The Courier spat on the floor, tilting her hat up with her revolver. "I found this in Dermot's room." She said coldly, holding the book up so James could get a better look at it. 

"You got his book? Dermot, this zombie got your book, she's got your book!" James cried, rushing at her with his fist raised. Dermot's reaction was to pull the SMG from his hip, aiming it her way. Thinking fast, the Courier fired the revolver into Dermot's gut before he could open fire, the bullet shooting clean through his body, and likely a vital organ, leaving him dead on the ground in a slowly growing pool of blood. Unfortunately, taking out Dermot meant she didn't have time to react to James, barely able to shield herself from the swing of the power fist. She was knocked back, falling on the ground with a grunt, but she was able to quickly pick herself back up just as the Westside militia was starting to get involved. While James was distracted with all the guns pointed at the two of them, the Courier quickly got an arm around his neck, holding her gun to his head as a human shield pointed towards the guards. "Hold your fire. Dermot and Saint James have been abducting refugees from Aerotech and selling them to the Fiends." She said, Saint James struggling to free himself from her grip.  
"That's bullshit! I--" The arm around his neck tightened, making it harder for him to breathe, let alone get a word out. "Shut. The fuck. Up." She said, pushing the barrel against his temple even harder.  
"Them's pretty bold fucking claims, missy. Got any proof?" One of the guards said, still aiming at her. Ghouls? Coming into town and stirring up trouble? The nerve of those damned zombies. "It's all in Dermot's ledger." She said, shuffling over to where she'd dropped the book after being hit by Saint James, kicking it towards the militia. One of the guards picked it up as the others kept their guns trained on the Courier, reading through the book. "Shit." The guard said, which was the Courier's cue to fire. She put a bullet straight through James' head, still holding him up for a moment in case some of the guards instinctively shot at her. Once nothing happened, she let go, letting him drop to the ground lifelessly. "I'll be on my way now." She said, making her way out of town. As she left, she took the ledger back from the guard who had been reading it, the entirety of town silent, staring at her. She was silent right back, eyes forward.

The journey back to Aerotech felt like hours. It dawned on her that she'd have to explain to Parker that she decided to play regulator instead of helping the NCR detain them, but since she had the evidence she didn't feel like it mattered all that much. She knew what she did was right. "You're back." Parker said, making his way over to her. She opened her bag without a word, handing him both the ledger and the teddy bear. "Yeah... That's her bear alright." He said, looking at it, and then the ledger. "Dermot and Saint James were selling the missing refugees on as slaves to Fiend leaders." She said, crossing her arms.  
"That so... Where are they now?" Parker asked, shutting the ledger as he held it in the same hand as the bear.  
"Dead." She replied, looking down at her gun.  
"Well, in any case. You've done us a service here. You have my thanks." He said, holding his hand out. She looked at it for a moment before nodding, shaking it.  
"Was happy to do it." She said, almost smiling at him. Almost.

"I've got to be going now, Captain. You take care of yourself. And don't be a stranger."


End file.
